


routines

by jade304



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Can't Be That MT Thing No Sir, Crownsguard Training, Gen, In Which Prompto is Suspiciously Good with Firearms, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 02:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12355953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade304/pseuds/jade304
Summary: There’s something there that he doesn’t really feel with any other weapon he’s tried. He wonders if it’s some kind of royal arms thing. That’d be stupid, but also really cool, he thinks.





	routines

**Author's Note:**

> sorry in advance if this is a very....drabble-y drabble. i just wanted to write some. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He takes the subway to the citadel after school on Thursdays; though the train’s crowded at the citadel’s stop, very few people make the turn to head into the building proper. He’s given a customary walk-through at the gate, but the Kingsglaive at the metal detectors have at least stopped giving him a pat down after he mentioned it offhandedly to Noctis one day. He gives them the crownsguard ID card, they wand him, he’s free to go through. The glaive gives him a lazy salute as he walks off, and Prompto returns the gesture. It’s usually the same guy, and he’s just as well become part of the routine.

Every other Thursday night, Prompto’s been whisked away to the citadel’s training rooms. (It was after Noctis grumbled something about _keeping Fridays_ _open_ that he changed the dates to Thursdays.) It’s absolutely _killer_ on Prompto’s body come Friday morning walking to school, but at least he has the weekend to recover. Between school, a part-time job, training, and needing those two days to rest, he’s been constantly on the go. It’s rough, but it’s more of a structure than he’s had in years. He’s grateful for the exhaustion at the end of the week. The routine of school-work-training-chill keeps his nerves at bay.

 

The actual _training,_ however, he thinks he’d like a bit more work on.

It’s only been a few weeks, but it’s going even worse than Prompto would’ve imagined – he’s been working off and on with the marshal’s supervision, but even the lightest of swords are still too unwieldy for him, swinging them in a much-less-than-graceful arc in the hall.

“Careful!” Cor snaps, and Prompto tries not to wince. “You’re aiming for the target, not me.”

“Sorry, sir!” Prompto squeaks. He turns again, taking a few more steps away from Cor to get closer to the training dummy near the far wall. Ideally, Cor says, he should be at least proficient with a weapon this small at this stage, but so far Prompto’s shown none of it.

“All right, stop, stop,” The marshal says, pinching the bridge of his nose as Prompto nearly fumbles the blade and cuts his own hand. “before you hurt yourself. Take a minute, I’ll be right back.”

“Um…okay, sir?”

Cor turns and leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Prompto listens to his footsteps fade off, and sighs. This was all _his_ idea, anyway, learning how to fight, and now he’s still messing it all up. The marshal probably ran off to go find the Crownsguard captain and call it quits on him. He hears a buzzing sound – his phone, stuffed in his gym bag in the corner by the door.

He can’t hear Cor coming back, so he walks over to reach for it.

Messages  
Noct: _Hi  
_ Noct: _Won’t be able to do tomorrow, something came up w dad. I’ll let you know whenever you can come over sometime this weekend though_

Outgoing  
_lmk whenever you’re free_

 

Changes to the routine, but whatever. Noctis leaves him on read. The prince usually does – it set him off when he first started texting him, but it’s fine now. The message doesn’t really warrant another response anyway.

Footsteps echo back down the hall, and he tosses the phone back in the bag, walking back around the room pretending to be casual. The door clicks, and Cor returns with a grey case in hand. It’s too small to be another sword, and Prompto gives him a curious look.

“We typically don’t train with these,” Cor says apologetically. “Sorry for the wait. I had to sign it out.”

He unclicks the locks on the box, pulls out a simple-looking handgun. Prompto bites his lip a bit nervously. “Doesn’t the Crownsguard only use swords, sir…?”

“Usually,” Cor says. “Technically speaking, these are illegal in Insomnia, but it’s based off Niflheim technology, so a civilian in Lucis will likely never touch one anyway.”

“Sounds…complicated.”

Cor considers this for a moment, then says, “Humor me and give it a try. Worse comes to worst, we go back to the sword from before. You were making good progress.”

He hands the gun over to Prompto. “Be careful; you’ll do a lot more damage errantly handling this than you would a sword.”

It’s a lot lighter than Prompto expected, lighter than even the last sword, and takes Cor’s cautioning words as he turns towards the training dummy. He didn’t really specify _where_ he should be aiming with this thing, but it feels more natural in his hands than the sword did. Kind of like an extension to his wrists.

He fires once at the dummy – it lands square through the stuffed forehead. His arms jerk back a little with the force, but he stares stunned at the small hole. He looks over at Cor, the marshal’s expression looking much the same as his own.

Since he doesn’t comment, Prompto tries again; he nails the dummy in the torso this time, two holes evenly aligned on top of one another. The three marks form a straight vertical line.

It’s a lot easier than the sword; they’ve tried daggers, but the metal warms under his hands like an extension of his arm. There’s something there that he doesn’t really feel with anything else he’s tried. He wonders if it’s some kind of royal arms thing. That’d be stupid, but also really cool, he thinks. He turns towards Cor; the marshal is watching him with a curious expression.

“Good,” Cor says, although his voice is a bit hesitant. “Really good, actually. And you’ve never practiced archery yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Interesting.”

He worries his lip over the marshal’s tone. He hands the weapon back over to Cor, who clicks the safety back into place and sets about putting it away. He feels like he’s simultaneously screwed up but also passed some kind of unspoken trial.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting these to you on the regular for training,” Cor says. His voice is back to its normal flat professionalism. “Only a handful of us really know how to use them, so you’ll likely be training directly under someone else from now on. I’ll still be checking in from time to time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cor must hear the uncertainty in his voice, because he looks up at Prompto and gives him a small smile. The marshal looks incredibly awkward when he smiles.

“You’re doing great, kid.”

 

Cor instructs him to hang back after he’s finished up showering after training, and he waits around the hallway outside the locker room with his hair still damp and dripping onto his shoulders. It’s already dark out, he might go grab some dinner or something on the way home.

Cor is taking a while getting back. He taps his feet on the tile floor, nerves welling.

Maybe things didn’t go as well as he though tonight. The marshal looked incredibly anxious while he was firing the gun – maybe he wasn’t supposed to hit the target. Maybe he handled it wrong? He tries to think about it, but he can’t find anything out of place. It was a remarkably easier time than anything they’d worked at so far. It was the first night he was able to successfully hit a target, anyway. He could do something with that talent if they let him.

He hears a door open, and Cor steps out. He’s followed by another man, only slightly shorter than him, but dressed in the full elaborate ensemble of the royal council. Prompto jerks to his feet, water droplets flicking into his eyes. He wishes he would’ve thought to bring gel or something tonight.

“Prompto Argentum?” The man asks. He looks vaguely familiar; Prompto’s seen him sometimes on television addresses, a ways behind the king, but now he seems a bit different in person.

“Yes, sir!” Prompto says. He slaps his arms to his sides in a military salute. The man looks amused; Cor frowns.

“At…ease,” The man says. He’s biting back a laugh. Prompto’s face burns.

“This is Clarus Amicitia, captain of the Crownsguard,” Cor says. “I don’t think you’ve met him before.”

“No,” Prompto says. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Clarus nods. “Cor says he thinks he’s found you a suitable weapon choice, finally. I heard you’re a born natural with firearms.”

“I never used one before today, but…I guess?”

“Take the next week off, Prompto,” Clarus says. “I’ll have to find someone to take over for the marshal for your regular sessions.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cor still looks like he has something to add, but only shadows Clarus as they talk. “I’ll see you in two weeks, then, Prompto,” He settles on at last.

“Okay.”

As Clarus and Cor walk away, Prompto places where he’s seen him before.

“Um, sir?”

“Yes?” Clarus turns around.

“Permission to, um…speak freely?”

“Of course..?”

“Are you Gladiolus’s dad?”

He blinks. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”

“Oh,” Prompto says. His voice falters a bit. “I kind of did? I mean, he picked up Noct from the arcade once, he’s…”

“Hm?”

“He’s uh. A very nice guy, sir.”

Clarus is definitely laughing at him now. Not openly, but he’s absolutely going to laugh about him later. He can see it right on his face. Prompto flushes.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“See you, then, Prompto,” Cor says as they turn to go.

Prompto hefts his gym back over his shoulder, making a break for the exit back to the main halls. _Why are you so awkward, @ me,_ he chastises himself. _We’ve talked about this._

As he goes, he can hear the two arguing:

_“You’re spending too much time around his majesty.”_

Clarus’s laugh echoes back down the hall.

 

“How’d it go?”

Prompto jerks up as the glaive by the gate speaks to him. They usually don’t chat as he makes his way back through security checks at the exit.

“Um…good, I guess.”

The man gives him a grin. “Gonna save me from guard duty sometime soon?”

Prompto laughs, nervous. “I don’t think so, I’m training for the Crownsguard, and the prince – “

“I’m only messing with ya,” He says. He hands Prompto his bag back. “Name’s Nyx, by the way.”

“Oh. I’m Prompto.”

“Prompto. Well, have a good one, then, Prompto.”

“Thanks?”

As he stuffs his ID card back in his bag pocket, Nyx calls back to him. “Hey!”

He looks up, and the glaive gives him the same salute he does when arrives. Prompto thinks about it, then gives him two finger guns back in return; Nyx laughs.

“See you next week!”

Prompto waves again as he walks off.

 

He’s still exhausted, but the city is still aglow and buzzing with people, even on a weeknight. He walks down the main street away from the citadel for one of the food stands, still thinking about the ghost of metal in his hands.

It’s a giddy feeling, finally finding something he’s good at. Something he’ll be able to actually work on and be _good_ at. It’s like his photography, only shooting with slightly different meanings and steps. He’s still not sure what to make of the marshal, or the captain, or their reactions; they’re probably just relieved he isn’t entirely useless, hanging out with the prince.

Routines and training, routines and training.

The automatic cycle, the weight of metal in his hands, extensions of his own hands.

Something he’s actually good at, fighting-wise.

He’ll one day find something wrong with this choice, of course – he’ll question it so much with nothing else to occupy his mental space, no more normal routines, it’ll be the only thing he has to think about. For now he’s content to join the bustling crowds of Insomnia, another soul lost amongst their numbers.


End file.
